


Time's Up

by MsChievous



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: And it explains this fic perfectly, Angst, De-Aged Prompto, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I'm mean to him, Injury, It's not a fun cute de-age tho, Language Barrier, Poor Prompto, Spoilers for Chapter 13, so much hurt, that is an actual tag, you shouldn't be surprised at this point
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-09
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-10-30 01:47:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10866471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsChievous/pseuds/MsChievous
Summary: A fill for thekinkmeme"A monster or some kind of plant turns Prompto back into a child, erasing his memories temporarily of his adulthood and leaving him with the memories from when he lived in Niflheim. He is aged down from before he made his escape, so he is fearful of his surroundings and thinks that Noctis, Ignis and Gladio are guards that are meant to punish him or something. Cue doting chocobros who want what's best for their friend and are horrified to learn the truth about his origins this way. Horrified because judging from Prompto's fearful expressions, he was treated badly over there and not horrified because of what he was."A hunt for a botanist goes awry when Prompto gets turned into a small child. That wouldn't be so bad, normally, but now he no longer speaks Lucian, looks terrified of the others, and seems to have a death wish.





	1. Make the Clock Reverse

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry I haven't been updating lately. Finals have been kicking my ass, but I'm back in business, baby! This fic has been a lot of fun to make, so I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Also, I’m taking a few liberties with this one. As someone who loves languages, I’m running with the idea that each of the countries has their own distinct language, so there will be a definite language barrier. 
> 
> If you care, in my head, Niflheim is roughly Slavic, Tenebrae is vaguely French, Accordo is kinda Italian, and Lucis is a mix of Latin and maybe something Japanese? Idk the specifics, just generally. Also, a butt-ton of dialects because language works that way.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto makes a mistake and Noctis makes a curious discovery

It wasn’t very often that Prompto purposefully put himself in danger. He wasn’t a coward, but he had a healthy sense of self-preservation. That being said, when a good photo was on the line, he was willing to do pretty much anything. Even climbing on top of a potentially unstable rock heap to get a better view of the sun peaking over the horizon.

“Prompto, get down. You’re gonna hurt yourself, and we need to get going.” Noct called from the bottom of the pile.

“Yeah, one sec!” Prompto replied, adjusting the lens to focus on the clouds, rippling with beautiful oranges, pinks, and reds. He snapped a few pictures and carefully clambered back down, taking his time with each step. By the time he had finished, the sun was climbing in the sky and the rest of the group was waiting, only semi-patiently

“Are we ready to move on?” Ignis’ voice wasn’t quite clipped, but on its way there.

“Yeah! Sorry. It was just looking really pretty.” Prompto apologized. “But let’s get back to the search. What’s the plant supposed to look like again?”

“The guy said it was pink-ish and that it grows in small groups. It likes the shade.” Noctis replied, re-reading the brochure the botanist had given them that had all the information for the hunt. “It also looks like a sylleblossom and a tulip had a kid… flower...thing.”

“Is that your professional opinion, or is that actually what’s written on the paper?” Prompto snorted, starting to glance around for any signs of the flower they were hunting for.

Noctis shrugged. “It does look like that…”

The sun was high in the sky by the time Prompto thought he caught a glimpse of the flowers through a break in the trees. They were growing a few feet away from the foot of a cliff that stretched dizzyingly high in the air, casting its shade across the pale pink petals.

“Hey, guys, I think I found it over here!” He called, bending down to pick one. They were actually really pretty looking. As he gripped the stem and pulled, it seemed to grow along with his motion, until it looked more like a vine instead of a stem. Before Prompto could question it, the petals curled in on themselves, releasing a yellow-y white powder. Prompto gasped in surprise, coughing as the powder got into his lungs and mouth.

Before he could recover, the flower tore itself out of his grip and slammed into his stomach. Already off-balance from the coughing fit, he flew backwards with a choked cry, hitting solid rock. His head slammed against the cliff face, and he fell down into darkness.

 

* * *

 

Noctis’ heart shot into his throat when he heard Prompto’s distant yell, followed by a faint _crack_. He warped as fast as he could in the direction he assumed the yell had come from, guided by Gladio’s and Ignis’ terse voices ahead of him.

He burst into a small clearing. In front of him, the flowers wafted gently in the breeze, basking in the shade cast by a sheer-faced cliff. Gladio and Ignis were hunched by the base of the cliff, presumably caring for Prompto.

“No, the Remedy isn’t working either!” Gladio snapped.

“Wh-Iggy, Gladio, what’s going on? Is Prompto okay?” Noctis hurried up to them to check on his best friend.

Except Prompto was nowhere to be seen. Instead, a small kid, probably barely five years old, was lying unconscious, blood oozing from a cut on his head. He had Prompto’s blond hair and freckles, and he was wearing Prompto’s clothes, but the clothes were much too large, as if he had been playing dress-up with his parents’ clothes.

“What the hell?” Noctis’s eyebrows furrowed. “What happened? Is...is that Prompto?”

“I dunno.” Gladio shrugged as Ignis responded in the same moment, “It would appear so.”

Noctis crouched over Prompto worriedly, “Well, is he gonna be okay? Can we cure this?” He asked.

Ignis looked at Gladio, then sighed. “I am not sure. Gladio gave him a remedy and an antidote, but it appears neither worked. We can give him a potion for the head wound. But for the… other issue, I’m afraid I don’t know what can be done besides pray for the best.”

“Think of it this way,” Gladio interjected with an easy grin, “It’s not like there’ll be much of a difference.”

Noct smacked Gladio playfully, hiding his own laughter, “Stop, Gladio, this is _serious_ . Prompto could be a kid _forever_.”

“I highly doubt that.” Ignis poured a potion over Prompto’s wound and straightened as it began to work. “If that were the case, I would imagine this flower would be considered more dangerous. Since it is only a Class 2 hunt, I imagine the effect will wear off within a week.”

“So we get to babysit Prompto...for a week?” Noctis glanced from Ignis to Prompto.

“Again, it’s not like it will make much of a difference.”

“ _Gladio_ ,” Noctis groaned, “Now is not the time. Come on, let’s get him back to camp and maybe get some better clothes on him.”

With a guffaw, Gladio picked Prompto up gently and followed Noctis and Ignis as they traced their way back to the haven.

They didn’t have any children’s clothes, no one was shocked to find out. But with a handful of safety pins, Ignis managed to make do. Prompto’s boots, pants, vest, and bandana were discarded. Instead, Ignis clipped the blond’s boxers snugly around his waist and the straps of his tank top together so they wouldn’t slip down his slim shoulders.

Gently, Ignis set Prompto down on a sleeping bag and started to pull off the too-big gloves and wristbands dangling around his hands. For as long as he’s known the boy, Prompto has always worn a wristband of some sort. It isn’t until he finished taking them off that he realized why.

A stark black tattoo marred the smooth surface of Prompto’s right wrist. It wouldn’t have been all that concerning, had it not been for the fact that it was shaped like a barcode and that it was still on Prompto’s skin as a child. Obviously, he had a few dark secrets.

No matter.

Ignis smoothed a hand over Prompto’s forehead and pulled his lucky chocobo plush out of the Armiger, scooting it close so the child could take some comfort in it.

Back outside the tent, Ignis settled into a folding chair next to Noctis and Gladio. “He should be fine, given rest.” He announced. He allowed a comfortable silence to stretch between them before broaching a potentially sensitive subject.

“Say, Noct…” Ignis paused, “Did Prompto ever mention having a tattoo to you?”

“What? No. Why, does he have one?” Noctis grinned, “Where is it? What’s it look like?” Then he paused, brows furrowing at the implication. “Wait. Does that mean he had a tattoo when he was little?”

Ignis steepled his fingers, trying to keep anger from his voice. “There is a tattoo of a bar code on his wrist. I don’t know its origins, but I doubt a child got a tattoo like that willingly.”

Gladio and Noctis stared at Ignis, stunned.

“A _bar code_ ? Who the hell tattoos a _bar code_ on a _kid_?” Gladio was the first to react, rocketing to his feet so quickly it made Noctis jump.

“You’ll have to ask him,” Ignis replied, shooting Gladio a pointed glare. “As it is, he should rest. And when he wakes up, it would be best not to frighten him by yelling at him.”

Gladio got the hint and sank back down in his chair, muttering under his breath.

Still silent from the bombshell, Noctis looked over at the closed tent flap, as if willing answers into existence. He had never gotten the impression that Prompto was hiding anything, but obviously, he didn’t know his best friend all that well. What kind of friend _was_ he?

With an angry grunt, Noctis got to his feet and stalked over to the tent flap. He may not have been there for his friend before, but he sure as hell will now.

He opened the tent flap, a little surprised to see Prompto sitting up, looking around in confusion, but he was conscious, so that was a good sign. Noctis turned to tell Ignis and Gladio the good news when he heard a soft yelp and scrambling limbs. He whirled back around, and caught a glimpse of Prompto standing ramrod straight, like a soldier ready to receive orders. He stared at Noctis and spoke, but Noctis couldn’t understand the words out of his mouth: They weren't Lucian.

Noctis furrowed his brow and called behind him, “Ignis, Gladio, you might wanna come here.”


	2. Living in the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis, Ignis, and Gladio can't communicate with Prompto, leading to dangerous assumptions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the support, everyone! The first chapter got such a huge response, I got so excited to work on this chapter! I hope you enjoy it!

When Prompto slowly regained consciousness, he was understandably confused. He was in some sort of canvas room, blankets strewn about haphazardly. He was clutching a soft object he couldn’t identify. That was all so wrong on so many levels.

A noise near the front of the canvas room caught his attention. A shorter man - _soldier_ \- with pretty blue eyes was looking at him, an indiscernible look on his face.

Prompto scrambled to his feet and stood at attention, as he was expected to do. “MT Unit 01987 functioning within normal parameters. Ready for orders.” His voice took on the steady monotone that his instructors had drilled into him with harsh words and harsher punishments.

The soldier furrowed his eyebrows, as if he didn’t understand. Then, before Prompto could repeat himself, the soldier turned around and shouted something behind him.

Prompto couldn’t understand the words. They weren’t speaking Nif.

Sudden understanding washed ice through his veins. He wasn’t on a training mission anymore, he had been captured by enemy forces. No doubt they were going to torture him to get information. He shrank back slightly, then remembered his training. Now was the time to put the weeks he had spent being taught how to withstand interrogations to good use.

As two more soldiers came up behind the short one, Prompto sat down heavily, preparing for the worst. A soldier with glasses crouched down beside him, speaking in a low, even voice.

His words were intelligible, but Prompto had no doubts about what the soldier wanted: information.

“I’m MT Unit 01987, Class 0006-0204.” He knew what he had to say. No matter what the enemy operative asked, only respond with your code and class number.

The soldier with glasses furrowed his eyebrows, speaking more slowly this time, as if the speed was the problem.

“I’m MT Unit 01987, Class 0006-0204.” Prompto repeated, keeping his eyes stubbornly trained on the ground.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Glasses shift back on his heels and look at the other soldiers. He sighed and spoke in a terse voice, though that might have just been how his language sounded.

The short soldier leaned forward and spoke, animating his words with telling gestures. He pointed to himself, “Noctis.” then to Prompto, “Prompto?”

Panic hammered in Prompto’s chest and he leaned back slightly before catching himself. How the _hell_ did he know Prompto’s real name? He knew that being the only son of Verstael Besithia made him more of a target, but how had these soldiers known who he was? He looked very little like his father, and didn’t receive any special treatment save the occasional meeting together.

But he kept his face blank. “I’m MT Unit 01987, Class 0006-0204.”

 

* * *

 

Noctis swore under his breath as Ignis tried to speak more slowly to Prompto, who just kept muttering something no one could understand.

Ignis pulled back with a sigh. “Obviously, he doesn’t understand Lucian. I’m _fairly_ sure that he’s speaking Nif, but I’m afraid my comprehension skills could use some work.” He admitted.

_I’ll make sure he understands_ , Noct thought, crawling forward to draw Prompto’s attention to himself. “Noctis.” He pointed towards himself, then towards Prompto. “Prompto?”

Prompto looked momentarily terrified, then his face smoothed out into vacant expression. He mumbled something again, and Noctis instinctively looked to Ignis.

“I-I believe he’s saying… numbers? There are zeros,” he paused, listening carefully, “a six, zero….two? Three? I could never really tell those apart all that well.” He paused again, trying to discern any more, but he shook his head. “The accent’s too thick, I don’t understand much, I’m afraid.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it, Ig,” Gladio clapped a hand to the advisor’s shoulder. “We’ll figure something out.”

Ignis sighed and nodded. “Noctis, you seemed to get a reaction out of him. Watch him, if you will?”

Noctis nodded, settling down beside Prompto. He noticed Prompto scoot away slightly, and quickly gave the blond some room. “Sorry.” He apologized, before realizing Prompto didn’t understand him.

Prompto’s murmurs filled the silence between them.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were from Niflheim?” Noctis asked. Prompto’s head snapped up, meeting Noctis’ gaze at the word “Niflheim”. “I-I just don’t get it. And that barcode on your wrist.” Noctis pointed to the spot on his own wrist where Prompto’s tattoo would have been.

That was a huge mistake. Prompto snapped to his feet and took off before Noctis could even react.

“Wait, Prompto!” He cried, scrambling to take off after him. He didn’t even pay attention to Gladio and Ignis taking off after him. He warped after Prompto. With each warp, Prompto was closer. Closer. With the last warp, he was within reaching distance and Noctis quickly closed his arm around Prompto’s wrist.

With a jerk, Prompto’s arm was wrenched back, and he yelled. Then he bit down on Noctis’ wrist. Hard.  
Noctis didn’t mean to let go, but he did, and Prompto took advantage of his distraction to run again.

Noctis warped again, catching up quickly and grabbing his arm again. Again, Prompto latched onto Noctis’ arm with his teeth, but this time Noctis was prepared. He clenched his jaw and tightened his grip, grabbing Prompto’s other arm with his free hand.

Prompto let go of Noctis’ arm and _screamed_ , dropping his whole weight to the ground.

The sudden movement pulled Noctis off-balance, but he kept his grip on Prompto. They both tumbled to the ground, Noctis half on top of the blond, trying to keep him both from attacking him and hurting himself.

There was a momentary struggle, and Prompto seemed to be using every tactic to break Noctis’ hold, as if he were trained in self-defense. A few times, he managed to succeed, but Noctis quickly grabbed him again before he could go too far.

Luckily, by this point, Gladio and Ignis had caught up, and Gladio took it upon himself to try and contain the writhing child.

Noctis released a sigh, rubbing at where Prompto’s teeth and broken skin and nearly hit bone. Ignis wordlessly handed Noctis a potion, keeping his gaze on Gladio as the Shield struggled to contain Prompto’s desperate thrashing.

“Wh-” Noctis couldn’t even make a coherent question. He _wanted_ to ask why the hell Prompto was acting this way, what must have happened to him when he was young, was he going to be okay, but most importantly, _why_ didn’t he _say_ anything before now?

Slowly, Prompto stopped struggling against Gladio, finding that no matter how many times he slammed his foot into Gladio’s kneecap, or threw his head back into the Shield’s nose, or bit his forearms, Gladio merely grunted and tightened his hold.

This at least made it easier to return to camp.

Gladio settled Prompto back in the tent. Noctis kept an eye on him while Ignis prepared the meal and Gladio sat back, nose in a book.

“Prompto, it’s okay.” Noctis gave a thumbs up, trying to force his intentions of goodwill onto the obviously terrified kid. “We won’t hurt you, I promise.” He knew that his words would have no effect, but maybe his tone would comfort Prompto.

The mutterings continued, as if Noctis hadn’t spoken.

A sudden thought occurred to him, and he pulled Ignis’s notebook and a pencil out of the Armiger. “Can you write?” Noctis mimicked the act of writing, pointing to Prompto. Prompto shook his head, and disappointment bloomed in Noctis’ chest. Maybe there was an app on his phone that could translate?

He kept one eye on Prompto as he searched the app store, trying a few options, but none seemed to pick up what Prompto was saying with any accuracy.

With a disgusted grunt, Noctis shoved his phone into his pocket and leaned back against the tent wall. It was going to be a long night.


	3. The City Never Sleeps at Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Prompto gets an idea, and Noctis, Ignis, and Gladio make a mistake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey y'all. These next few days are gonna be a bit rough in terms of updates. I'm moving out of my dorm and back home for the summer, so I'll do my best, but don't count on an update tomorrow. I'll definitely have it up by Saturday, though. I hope you can forgive me? ^.^

The short soldier was sitting near him, not speaking, just looking. As Prompto watched, he pulled out a slim grey box and started fiddling with it. After a few minutes, he slid it back into his pocket and leaned against the canvas wall.

Prompto noticed the look in the soldier’s eyes: they looked so sad. Perhaps he was weaker than the rest of his companions, more emotional. He had a sudden thought: if he pretended to act like a normal human child, then perhaps the soldier would relax his guard and Prompto could escape while the guards all slept.

With a deep breath, Prompto scooted slightly closer.

The soldier froze and looked at him out of the corners of his eyes, as if worried that Prompto would be scared off by too much attention. Then Prompto slid even closer. Was the soldier holding his breath? It looked like it. Obviously, he was being careful not to scare Prompto. Dummy.

With a last scoot, Prompto leaned against the soldier’s side, curling up slightly. The soldier’s heartbeat was quick, though his breathing was slow. He felt the soldier look down at him, asking something Prompto didn’t understand.

Prompto looked up at him, then at the wrist he had bitten. Somehow, it was completely healed. He didn’t quite understand it, so pointed at it questioningly. “What happened?”

Suddenly, there was a hand on his head. Prompto forced himself not to grab the hand and wrench it away. Instead, he allowed the hand to rub against his hair before it was lifted off.

The soldier was smiling, his body relaxing as Prompto curled his fingers into the soldier’s T-shirt. He spoke again, soft and gentle.

Prompto almost let himself relax as well, but reminded himself that they were just being gentle with him to get the information they wanted, his instructors said that was how Lucis operated. He would have to take advantage of their leniency.

  


* * *

 

Ignis was surprised, to say the least, to walk in on Prompto cuddling against Noctis’ side. But he quickly wiped the surprise off his face and replaced it with a gentle smile. “Would you like some food, Prompto?” He held out a plate of long-bone rib steaks. Prompto stared at in confusion for a few seconds.

“Go on, take it.” Noctis urged, pressing a gentle hand into Prompto’s back.

Obediently, Prompto grabbed the plate, holding it awkwardly in front of him. He looked from the plate, to Noctis, then to Ignis.

“You can eat it, it’s alright.” Ignis flapped his hand gently, urging Prompto to take a bite.

Prompto looked confused, staring between Ignis and the food with furrowed brows.

Noctis leaned forward, pointing at Prompto. “You, eat.” Noctis pantomimed eating, but Prompto only looked more confused. Had...had Prompto never seen meat before? Surely he had to know _how_ to eat it, though, right?

Though he suddenly didn’t feel hungry, Noctis picked up a small piece and took a bite. Then he handed it to Prompto encouragingly. “Do what I just did.” He explained.

Haltingly, Prompto gripped the rib by the bone, sinking his teeth into the meet, and his eyebrows flying into his hairline. He dropped it, bits of meat falling out of his open mouth. Surprised eyes flew from Ignis to Noctis to the rest of the ribs on his plate. He picked up another one and bit into it. This time, he tore the meat off the bone and swallowed, not even bothering to chew.

Before Noctis or Ignis could tell him to slow down, Prompto had devoured the meat around the bone. He dropped the bone on the ground and paused.

His eyebrows furrowed and fingers dancing around his stomach, as if it was causing him discomfort. Then suddenly, Prompto was on his hands and knees, throwing up what little food he had consumed.

Heart leaping into his throat, Noctis leaned forward to rub circles in his back and comfort him, but Prompto slapped his hand away and scooted into the corner, yelling angrily.

Ignis sighed, picking up the dropped plate carefully so as not to scare Prompto more than he obviously already was. “I’ll be back to clean up this...mess. Keep an eye on him?” He directed his question to Noctis, who nodded.

Luckily, there hadn’t been much in Prompto’s stomach, and soon it was all cleaned up. Ignis even set up a portable fan to aerate the tent. It wasn’t very powerful, since it ran on batteries, but it got the job done, more or less.

Prompto slowly uncurled himself from the corner, muttering under his breath again. But this time, it didn’t seem to be the numbers. He looked at Noctis, eyes angry and hurt.

Noctis’ heart broke. He couldn’t deal with this. Having a best friend with a shitty childhood is one thing, but Noctis just didn’t know how to deal with a _kid_ having a shitty _life_ , never mind one they didn’t fully understand.

“I wish you spoke Lucian, or I spoke Nif. It would make this so much easier,” He sighed. He felt Prompto’s eyes on him and bit back dry laughter. Usually Prompto was the one forcing _him_ into conversations, picking up the slack when Noctis felt too tired to converse. Now, Noctis was the one trying to get Prompto to understand. “We don’t want to hurt you, okay? I-I don’t know who hurt you before now, but they’re not here. I promise, you’ll be safe.” He smiled down at the boy, hoping that his intentions came through with his smile.

Prompto returned the smile shakily, and slowly crawled back over to Noctis’s side. Relief flooded through him. Prompto didn’t seem to be too traumatized by the incident, though it was curious _why_ he had thrown up. Was it the flavor? Or the texture? Or maybe it was something else? 

Noctis threw that line of thinking out the window. It wasn’t going to benefit them. They just needed to keep Prompto calm until he could change back. Luckily, it seemed things were going that way. Prompto’s breathing had slowed back down to normal, and his fingers were intertwined with Noctis’ shirt. Though Noctis definitely wasn’t a kid person, this was pretty cute. He allowed his head to fall to his chest, his eyes to close, and his breathing to slow.

He was jerked out of his momentary slumber by a cold feeling at his side. He shot awake, locking eyes with Prompto, who was crawling away. Noctis’s breath caught in his throat. Was Prompto trying to escape _again_? But before Noctis could make a move, Prompto grabbed up the chocobo plush and scooted back towards Noctis.

Oh. Oh, that was too precious. Noctis worked to contain his laughter. Instead, he held his arm out, allowing Prompto to sidle even closer. He wrapped a tentative arm gently around Prompto’s shoulder, rubbing his arm comfortingly.

Noctis was pretty close to sleep when Ignis and Gladio had crawled into the tent, zipping it for the night. By the time they had all settled down, Noctis was fast asleep, Prompto’s head resting against his side.


	4. Closing Walls and Ticking Clocks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto's escape goes awry, and he's left to the mercy (or lack thereof) of the daemons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little heads up, since I'm back home for the summer, I'm going to be able to concentrate on my cosplay, so updates will slow down to every other day or so.

Prompto waited with bated breath to hear the deep, even breathing of the soldiers surrounding him. His plan worked: they trusted him enough not to deem it necessary to stay up to guard him.

Their loss.

He slowly edged himself away, taking care not to make a sound. Shorty didn’t even seem to notice that Prompto moved. He must be a heavy sleeper. Carefully, Prompto edged around Glasses, carefully pulling the zipper to open the flap.

It was loud, like the distant pop of gunfire. He paused, heart hammering in his chest. Part of him wanted to just rip it open as fast as possible, run as far as he could. But he knew that he would only be caught faster. Subterfuge and silence are his best weapons at this point. So he waited as Glasses shifted slightly.

After a time, Prompto decided that it was safe. He slowly edged the zipper open until he could slip soundlessly out.

The wind brushed through his hair, a tentative reminder of freedom, if he was quick and quiet. His bare feet barely made any noise as he hurried away from the faintly glowing marks of their campsite.

The farther he got away from that prison, the lighter he felt. He was going to be okay. He would get to a vantage point, and he would be able to be picked up and taken back home. He let those thoughts fuel his pumping legs and burning lungs.

A familiar, faint hum made him stop dead in his tracks. That...that was a dropship. Oh, gods, that was his ticket home. He _needed_ to get to higher ground. There was a cliff several yards away in a clearing. He would have to risk climbing up that to gain the dropship’s attention. It wasn’t his first choice, but at this it was most likely to succeed the quickest.

He hurried to the cliff face, trampling over pink wildflowers in the process. Almost feverishly, he started climbing. Thankfully, he remembered his training: using his toes and hips to propel himself higher, how to grip the rocks, and most importantly, _not to look at the ground below_. He had no ropes securing him to the cliff face right now, and if he fell from too high up, he might die.

He swallowed that thought as he pulled himself higher. The temptation to look down past his footholds was so strong, but he knew that if he did, he would freeze, unable to move. So he stubbornly kept his eyes upward, looking toward his next handhold, his next foothold.

The dropship was rumbling closer, almost on top of him right now. Prompto didn’t know if he would make it to the top in time. Desperation made him sloppy. He lunged for a handhold that was just barely out of reach. His right hand closed on air, and he found himself suddenly dangling by his left hand over open space. He scrambled to get his right hand on the rock face, but his left finally gave out, and he found himself falling, air whistling through his hair. For a few moments, he found himself miraculously weightless.

Perhaps he should have been glad that he wasn’t farther up. If he was much higher, he probably would have died. As it was, the fall got him pretty close.

He woke up to a dull agony in the back of his head, his arm, and his leg. With a barely-muffled moan of agony, he tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness and nausea forced him back down. Everything was painful and hot and fuzzy. But he had to get to higher ground. He _had_ to. Otherwise, he doubted he’d be rescued. It’s almost been too long already.

Forcing his pain away as best he could, Prompto dragged himself forward. Just that one movement caused a wave of pain that forced him to stop, on the verge of passing out. He paused, waiting for the feeling to pass, then scooted forward again, pressing on just a bit farther than last time. He paused again, waiting for the nausea and pain to pass so he could scoot even farther.

He didn’t know how long he had been inching forward. He vaguely realized he hadn’t even been moving in a particular direction, his pain-addled brain making decisions difficult. So he stopped, trying to regain his bearings.

A clicking noise from behind made his heart stop (though it was trying to do that on its own). He had spent enough nights in the wild to recognize the sound an Arachne makes when it scuttles close to its prey. If he had been in better shape, with a weapon at his disposal, he might have had a chance of surviving. But he was half-dead, with no backup, and no weapon.

The only thing that made this just a little bit better was the thought that the Lucian soldiers got no information out of him before he died.

Darkness swallowed him as the Arachne clicked ever closer.

 

* * *

 

“Highness!” Ignis’ voice shook Noctis out of a deep, dreamless sleep. Noctis yawned, rubbing eyelids heavy with sleep.

“Wha’s up, Ig?” Noctis yawned.

“Where is Prompto?”

Those words shot ice through Noctis veins and he woke up in record time. “What do you mean?” He sat straight up, looking around in confusion. Prompto was… not at his side. Oh gods.  “I-I don’t know. Do-”

Noctis was cut off at the low humming of a Magitek Engine, and he locked eyes with Ignis. “You don’t think-”

“He heard the engine and got scared and ran away?” Ignis finished his thought for him. “It seems likely. We must find him and bring him back. Gladio’s already searching near the campground.”

Jumping to his feet, Noctis rushed out of the tent. “I’ll search the left, you search the right!” He yelled, before warping away. He didn’t even hear Ignis’ reply, he was so focused on finding Prompto.

The hum of the drop ship grew softer and farther away. Hopefully Prompto was just hiding, and when the ship’s rumbling disappeared, he would come back out.

Fifteen minutes after the ship had disappeared from earshot, Noctis was beginning to think something was wrong. Neither Gladio nor Ignis had seen any sign of him where they were searching, and as time wore on, the likelihood that he stumbled across a daemon rose chillingly quickly.

He shook that thought out of his head and tried to concentrate on searching in a logical manner, though panic made it a little hard to concentrate. Skidding to a stop, he forced himself to take a breath and think. Running around like a madman, while it felt cathartic, would do nobody any good. He needed to pause, take a breath, and-

And was that the sound of an Arachne?

Noctis’ heart leapt into his throat. That was definitely an Arachne, and from the sounds of her clicking, she had found her prey. Noctis warped as quickly as he could towards the noise, praying that he got to the daemon before she could get to her meal.

He caught a glimpse of the Arachne through the trees and threw his Engine Blade into her chest, warping to it, then delivering a killing blow with his greatsword.

As the daemon sunk into the ground, dissolving into a blackish sludge, Noctis whirled around, looking for who, or what the Arachne was about to snack on. His heart leapt in his throat as he caught sight of Prompto, unconscious in front of a long trail of blood that led away from the cliff.

Oh gods, was he even breathing?

Noctis was at Prompto’s side in a second, hands gently turning him onto his back. Relief spread through him as he felt for a pulse and found one. Weak, but there. He was tempted to give Prompto a potion or two, but his arm and leg looked broken, and he didn’t want them to heal crooked. So instead, he pulled out his phone and dialed Ignis’ number.

“Any n-”

“Iggy, I-I found him. It...it’s really bad. He’s hurt. I-I don’t know what to do.”

“Can you move him?”

“I don’t know!” Noctis shouted, helplessness turning into anger. “I don’t know. His arm and leg look really bad, but I can carry him.”

Ignis sighed. “It certainly isn’t the best option, but you need to get him out of harm’s way. Bring him back to camp. Gladio and I will get ready to help.”

“O-okay. Thanks, Iggy.”

“Of course. Just be careful.”

Noctis nodded and ended the call, slipping the phone back into his pocket. “Sorry, Prom, but this might hurt,” he whispered. He slipped his arms around Prompto’s back and knees, lifting him up carefully. A soft whine escaped Prompto’s lips, but nothing more. Was that a good thing or a bad thing?

Holding Prompto close, Noctis hurried in the direction of camp, all too aware of the blood soaking into his shirt, and how uncomfortably _light_ Prompto was. Sure, he was a kid now, but were kids supposed to be this light? He forced that line of thinking out of his head, instead concentrating on keeping his pace quick but smooth.

It was a tense several minutes before Noctis caught a glimpse of the glowing blue runes of their campsite and breathed a sigh of relief. Prompto was now vaguely conscious, nonsensical words interspersed between hiccuped sobs and hisses of pain. His eyes were open, but it was clear from the way they stared ahead that they didn’t really see anything.

“Just a little bit longer, Prom. I promise everything will be okay. Just hold on.” Noctis somehow managed to speak through the lump growing in his throat.

As promised, Ignis and Gladio were waiting by the campfire. Gladio was holding a handful of curatives, while Ignis was shifting through the first aid kit. They both looked taken aback at how extensive the damage actually was, but no one made a sound.

Instead, Ignis motioned for Noctis to lay Prompto down on a sleeping bag he had dragged from the tent.

“First, we must set his bones. Gladio, hold his shoulders. Noctis, his leg.” Ignis instructed, kneeling next to where a bit of bone stuck out of Prompto’s calf. With a clenched jaw, Ignis pushed the offending bone back into place.

The effect was immediate. Prompto spasmed, a choked scream ripping from his lungs as he fought against the hands holding him. Then, the screams died down into muffled tears and whispers in another language.

“Prompto, I’m going to need to do the same thing to your arm. They’re both broken, and we need to fix that. It will hurt, but afterwards, we’ll be able to use curatives and make it better.” Ignis spoke calmly, knowing that the content of the words wasn’t understood, but hoping that his tone of voice would soothe the child.

It really didn’t.

He tried his hardest to rend out of Noctis’ and Gladio’s grips, but the two only tightened their hold as Ignis pushed Prompto’s arm back in place.

Prompto screamed again, louder this time, if that was even possible. Tears were flowing freely, and he looked like a mess. Blood traced its way down the sides of his head, now crusty and almost black. His arm and leg were both swollen, blood seeping from where the broken bones had opened a gash in his limbs.

Working quickly, Ignis placed a hi-elixir into Prompto’s limp hand and forced him to crush it. A ghostly blue glow surrounded him, and he shuddered at the uncomfortable buzz that was no doubt gnawing at his wounds. After a few seconds, the hi-elixir had worked its magic, knitting together his bones, nerves, muscles, and skin until there was barely a sign of any of his injuries.

Then, Ignis forced him to crush a potion, watching as the potion took care of any loose ends, bolstering his strength.

With a sigh, Ignis sat back on his heels, finally allowing himself to relax. “He should recover, but we might want to get him to a hospital soon for a blood transfusion, just in case.”

Noctis nodded slowly, looking Prompto up and down. If Noctis hadn’t found him, he would be dead. The thought turned his blood cold, and he felt sick just thinking about it. “Y-yeah. Let’s do that.”


	5. Til Eternity Passes Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feeling even more trapped than before, Prompto decides to take drastic action

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 Please don't hate me after this chapter. 'Kay?

The first thought Prompto had when woke up was _How am I still alive?_ He shifted to his side and carefully opened his eyes, mentally going over his injuries. He was a little sore and light-headed, but nothing actually felt painful. That was weird, he was so sure he had broken his leg and arm.

But when he looked at them, they were smooth, only a few aging bruises marking his injuries. He sat up suddenly, heart pounding in his chest. How long had he been out? If his arm and leg had healed, then… then that had to be a couple months? How was it even possible for him to be _out_ that long? _Was_ it possible?

Suddenly, a hand was on his back, and Prompto had to bite back the instinct to attack. He whirled around, and locked eyes with Glasses.

Glasses cleared his throat. “You are safe.” He spoke in halting Nif, though Prompto could barely understand him through his accent.

Sure, safe.

Prompto nodded slowly, rubbing his arm absentmindedly. If he had been with the Lucians for long enough for bones to heal, then that meant that he was considered dead to Niflheim. No one would be looking for him.

 

* * *

 

Ignis motioned for Prompto to follow him, searching his brain for the right word. “Come?” He asked in Nif. It wasn’t the most accurate word, but he was fairly sure that was pronounced correctly, at least according to the language-learning app he had studiously studied while Prompto was unconscious. It helped that he could read and write Nif, but learning to speak it was much more difficult than he had anticipated.

Slowly, Prompto obeyed, following Ignis out of the tent and towards the food prep station where Ignis did all of his cooking. He seemed a little traumatized, no doubt by his sudden injury and subsequent healing, but he shifted close to Ignis.

He was concentrating so intently on slicing the fruit evenly that he almost jumped when a hand tugged on his sleeve. Looking down, he stared down into Prompto’s wide eyes. He was pointing at the cutting board, quizzical expression etched into his face.

“Why?” He asked.

“Why what?” Ignis asked, crouching down to be on Prompto’s level.

Prompto’s next words were incomprehensible. Simple, one-word questions were almost more than Ignis could understand, thanks to Prompto’s thick accent.

“S-sorry, no…” He trailed off, trying to remember how to pronounce “understand” in Nif. He could see the words written clearly enough in front of him, but for the life of him, he couldn't think of how to say it.

Luckily, Prompto seemed to understand what he was trying to say and tried again. He made a chopping motion, like Ignis had just been doing with the fruits.

Realization dawned. “Oh, you wish to know why I-” Ignis cut himself off as he realized hi had switched to Lucian. He straightened and resumed slicing the fruits. “To eat.” He responded with a smile. He tried to remember the word for “breakfast”, but again, couldn’t quite place the pronunciation. Hopefully his intentions would ring through.

Based on the look of confusion he got from Prompto, however, the boy didn’t understand. Had he misspoke? He was fairly sure that he had used the correct word. His pronunciation was a little off, obviously, so maybe that had something to do with it?

“Food?” Ignis tried again.

Recognition sparked in the boy’s eyes and he looked around. “Where?”

Ignis quirked his eyebrows, a confused smile growing on his lips. He couldn’t remember how to pronounce “here”, so he just settled to pointing at the pile of food on his workstation and repeating, “Eat. Food.” He pantomimed an eating motion.

“No!” Prompto yelled, “Eat!” He made a motion as if injecting himself with medicine, and Ignis felt his blood run cold.

“No, eat.” Ignis insisted, again, pantomiming eating.

Prompto just shook his head, pointing at the crook of his elbow.

Ignis leaned close, grasping Prompto's forearm gently, turning it to better see what Prompto was pointing at. A series of miniscule, reddish circles, all clustered around the thick vein there. Icy fear was replaced by firey anger at the connotation. By the six, had Prompto grown up with...with only intravenous nutrients? Theoretically, it was possible, but still, to see the results of such an act: a too-thin child with dull skin and hair, was enough to make him want to throw whoever decided to do that to a child off the top of the cliff not fifteen minutes away.

Instead, he swallowed his anger, remembering how after Prompto had eaten just a little meat, he had thrown up. He doubted the boy would be willing to try it again, but they had to get sustenance into him somehow. He hadn’t eaten for nearly a whole day, and the whole cliff fiasco certainly wasn't helping. He must be getting hungry, and Ignis really wanted to get real food in him before they got to the hospital. “Okay.” He nodded, returning Prompto’s motions for “eat”. “And drink?” Ignis waited, heart in his throat.

Prompto nodded. “Drink.” He returned, thankfully taking a sip of an imaginary liquid.

Relief spread through Ignis. At least he could put some soup in a cup and have him drink that. Maybe crush some vitamins and put that in as well? Hopefully that would help Prompto’s body get most of what it needed until Prompto could grow back.

“Okay.” Ignis responded with a nod. “Wait, drink… um, drink soon.” He stumbled over his words, cursing his inability to properly speak Nif. As advisor, he was expected to be able to read and write Nif in order to read intelligence reports, but he had never thought it important to be able to speak it. He had never been in direct contact with anyone who spoke it, so he had stopped trying to learn pronunciations. Only due to recent circumstances had he started to cram the knowledge into his brain.

Oh, how he wished he could slap his younger self upside the head. It was _never_ a bad idea to learn to speak an enemy language. If only because one of your friends might actually be from that area, and when reverted back to a five-year-old, will be unable to communicate with you.

Prompto nodded, seeming to understand Ignis’s meaning. He continued watching Ignis prepare breakfast, entranced by the way his knife cleanly cut through the fruits.

Ignis was originally going to use the fruits as a side dish to sprinkle on top of their pancakes, but he instead decided to make it into a juice for Prompto to drink. He might even be able to slip a parsnip in there if he was careful.

Setting the knife aside, Ignis turned to making the pancakes. Those would take the longest to make, so he better get started now. He turned to start measuring out his ingredients when he realized he hadn’t taken out the baking soda. Sighing, he knelt down to dig through the bag of ingredients. He was _sure_ they had some. After all, they had just gone grocery shopping last week.

He spotted it, buried under a bag of potato chips and fished it out just as he heard a slight squishing sound, followed by a gasp. He turned, thinking that Prompto had just accidentally stepped on a piece of fruit that had fallen on the ground.

The reality was much, much worse.

 

* * *

 

Finally, Glasses seemed to understand him. “Okay.” He said, voice thick with a hard-to-understand accent. He repeated the “feeding” motion. “And drink?”

Of course he knew that one, too. _Everyone_ had to eat and drink to survive. What species of moron _was_ this soldier? He nodded, pantomiming how to drink.

The soldier looked relieved, for some reason. Why wouldn’t he know how to eat or drink? And why had the soldier tried to trick him into putting something in his mouth by saying that was how you eat? Did Prompto really look that stupid? Or maybe all of Lucis was that stupid, it was hard to say.

Glasses turned back to slicing up the fruit. Prompto watched the knife carefully. If he could get his hands on it, he could use it as a weapon. It was certainly sharp enough and long enough to do a decent amount of damage, but he wasn’t quite sure if he would be able to take on all three of the soldiers, even if they were Lucian idiots.

After he had finished cutting up the fruit for whatever reason, Glasses moved on to mixing a bunch of whitish powders together.

Prompto had heard that Lucians relied a lot on magic, so maybe this was some kind of ritual or potion? He didn’t know, and didn’t care to find out. What he _did_ care about was the oh-so-sharp knife Glasses had just set aside, within Prompto's reach, if he was quick enough. But Glasses was right there, close enough to stop Prompto if he tried.

But then, Glasses hunched down and started looking through a large cloth bag at his feet. He was turned away from Prompto: the perfect target. Prompto stared at the knife.

If he moved quickly, him could probably grab it and stab Glasses, at least, but that still left Big and Shorty. He wouldn’t be able to take them both out, they were too good. He had only one option.

He darted forward and grabbed the knife. It took barely a second to reposition his hands on the handle before he slammed the point into his ribs.

A wet, searing pain arched though his torso and he bit back a grunt. He didn’t want to die, but he had to. For the Empire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ^.^


	6. Time Has Come Today

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chocobros finally take Prompto to the hospital, and things slowly start to make sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for that last chapter, guys. But this one ends on a happier note! ...Ish?

“ _Prompto!”_

Noctis jumped as Ignis screamed his friend’s name. Scrambling to his feet and out of the tent, Noctis was met with a terrifying scene. He stopped short and nearly vomited. Prompto, five-year-old Prompto, was lying on the ground, one of Ignis’ knives sticking out of his stomach just below his rib cage. Blood puddled below his body, flowing sluggishly across his thin waist.

“Oh, gods, what happened? Is he going to be okay?” Noctis tried to get his legs to work, but they didn’t quite want to cooperate. He nearly stepped on Gladio's book, which lay abandoned near a chair next to the tent's opening.

“Noctis, grab as many curative as you can, quickly!” Ignis snapped. “Gladio, get ready to put as much pressure as you can on the wound. Ready?”

Gladio nodded, white-faced but determined.

Ignis gripped the handle of the knife, then drew it out with a fluid motion. “Now!”

Prompto spasmed as the knife was pulled out, replaced by a nearly bone-breaking set of hands. His eyes were glassy and far away, but at least he was still breathing...somewhat.

Noctis arrived seconds later with a handful of potions and hi-elixirs.

Ignis worked quickly, uncorking a hi-elixir. He brushed Gladio’s hands aside and poured the curative into the wound. The wound sealed partway, blood vessels and muscles fusing back together thanks to the power of the Crystal. Prompto writhed and screamed, kept mostly steady thanks to Gladio’s solid grasp. Still, Prompto's legs kicked weakly, and his fingernails scratched into the hard rock below in an attempt to deal with the pain.

Ignis didn’t even need to ask for a hi-potion this time, Noctis handed him one, already open. He poured this one over the wound as well, waiting with baited breath as it sealed up the wound the rest of the way. “One more potion, for luck.” Ignis’ voice shook as he held out a hand, grabbing the corked bottle from Noctis. He placed it in Prompto’s hand, forcing him to crush it.

A faint blue glow ghosted over Prompto’s body, healing any lingering injuries he may have had, and Ignis finally allowed himself to relax for a second. He tried to contain his shaking fingers, but they didn’t seem to want to stop trembling.

“Iggy…” Noct breathed, crouching down, “Wh-what happened? H-how?” He asked.

Ignis shook his head. “I-I-I don’t know… I turned away... He-he just...took the kn-knife, and...” He stumbled over his words, trying to erase the image of a child-aged Prompto stabbing himself, blood flowing out of his self-inflicted wound. So much blood.

He shook himself out of his thoughts and stood up. “W-we need to get him to a hospital. _Now_. Prompto’s lost a significant amount of blood. He might slip into h-hypovolemic shock, and I’d rather we not be here if th-that happens."

Startled by how far Ignis had come undone, as well as the sight of his best friend bleeding out on the ground, Noctis quickly finished slipping the folded-up chairs into their sleeves as Gladio worked to take down their tent.

Once their camp had been taken down in record time, Gladio scooped up Prompto’s still unconscious body, following Ignis’ brisk pace back towards where they parked the Regalia. It took almost half an hour to get there, and each moment that passed seemed to serve only to put Ignis more on edge.

Following Ignis’s instructions, Gladio sat in the back seat of the car and lay Prompto down, propping the boy’s legs on his lap. ‘To help blood flow to his heart’. Ignis had said. Gladio didn’t understand why, but from the way Ignis gripped the steering wheel so tightly it looked like he might manage to break it, Gladio didn’t think he wanted to ask. Instead, he settled for rubbing Prompto’s shin comfortingly, unsettled by how cold and clammy the boy's skin was. And...were his lips _blue_?

“Um, Iggy, I don’t mean to upset you, but, uh… Prompto’s not looking to hot. I… I think his lips are blue

If it was possible to curse with a single look, Ignis had done it. There was a beat, then a sigh. “Buckle up.” He said, voice harsh, before pressing down on the gas pedal, _hard_. Gladio and Noctis scrambled to obey as the speedometer rose into the 80’s and then beyond.

Thanks to Ignis’ burst of speed, they arrived at a nearby hospital in almost 15 minutes. Ignis and Noctis took Prompto to be treated, while Gladio parked the car.

Thankfully, there weren’t many people needing to be treated at 7:30 in the morning.

“I’m afraid Prompto is a little confused at the moment, and he only speaks Nif. If you have a nurse or doctor who could help, that would be very much appreciated.” Ignis said to the nurse helping Prompto into a gurney.

The nurse paused. “I think nurse Vasilisa is on duty. She speaks Nif. And… and Doctor M’Bala.” He said. “I’ll make sure care of Prompto gets transferred over to them.”

That was all they could hope for. Maybe with a translator, they could find out exactly _why_ Prompto would try to do that to himself. After all, it just didn’t make any sense! Just last night, Prompto had been cuddling up with Noct, looking like an average five-year-old. But some puzzle pieces started to fit in place, the more he thought about it.

The bar code on his wrist. The numbers he was muttering when he first woke up, like some sort of serial number. The obvious self-defence training. The escape attempts. The attempted suicide. It was all pointing to Prompto being a soldier, attempting to escape from enemy combatants. _Them_. Ignis clenched his fists, trying to keep his breathing level. He wasn't sure what was worse: that Prompto had been trained as a soldier at such a young age, or that Ignis never caught on to that fact.

How had he never noticed? Prompto finished up his training in just a few _months_ , when it took most people all of a year to complete. He slept on his back, arms tucked into his chest, and spine ramrod straight. Sometimes, when he didn’t think the others were looking, he got this haunted look, like Ignis had seen in some Glaives on the front lines.

With 20/20 hindsight, everything appeared so obvious, it took all of his willpower not to slap himself upside the head.

 

* * *

 

_Beep… beep… beep… beep…_

A steady beeping sound drew Prompto out of a heavy fog. He shook his head to clear it, but only succeeded in muddling the sounds and feelings together.

Wait. How the hell was he still alive? Because this sure didn’t _feel_ like death.

He struggled towards full lucidity, blinking as the lights nearly blinded him. His panic quickly died away at the vaguely familiar setting around him. He was sitting on some sort of cot-like thing. Reddish liquid hung from a metal pole to his left, and a tube led from the bag to a needle in the crook of his left elbow. A strange plastic instrument was clamped to his right pointer finger, and his weird Lucian clothes had been replaced with a greenish-blue papery fabric dress. He was all alone, but no doubt that would soon be remedied.

It felt so comforting, he wanted to cry. But that wouldn’t befit a soldier, so he swallowed that feeling down.

The door in front of him slid open, and a woman with dark hair and eyes stepped into the room. For a moment, Prompto panicked: she looked Lucian. But then she smiled slightly, and started speaking Nif. “Hello, there. You scared us a little, but we got more blood in you, so you should be fine, as long as you rest. Or avoid doing anything like what got you into this pickle.” The woman said.

“I-I’m sorry.” Prompto blurted out. He knew he shouldn't apologize, that it wouldn't matter, but he _had_ to explain himself. Explain why he tried to destroy himself, a Niflheim weapon. “But those Lucian soldiers captured me, and they held me for so long, and I didn’t know what to do!” He paused, taking in the woman’s wide eyes and slightly dropped jaw. “I didn’t tell them anything, promise! They didn’t speak Nif, anyway.”

“Those three men _captured_ you? Why? What for?”

Apparently, stupidity wasn’t a purely Lucian trait.

“What else for? They wanted information on the MT program.”

“O-oh. And you can provide that?”

“I could have, but I didn’t. They saw my barcode, and that’s it. I don’t think they even realized that I’m an MT unit.”

The woman’s eyes widened even further. “Oh! Oh, okay. Great! Well, I-I need to be going...somewhere. Um, bye.”

The woman left just as quickly as she had come, the sliding door slamming shut behind her. Prompto stared after her, confused as to why she seemed so confused and surprised by everything. Perhaps she was a new scientist? They always tended to be skittish at first, treating the units-in-training as humans rather than things.

He sighed, and relaxed back into his pillow. He was okay. He was back home, surrounded by the comforting sounds of beeping machines, and the steady pulsing of fluids entering his veins.

Safe.


	7. Time After Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompto catches on to what is going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, fam. Sorry, this is gonna be late and pretty unedited. My laptop is being repaired, so I won't have it for a few days... Once I get it back, I'll go over this chapter. If you notice anything, though, don't be afraid to point it out! <3

Nurse Vasilisa had seen some shit in her life. Some real harsh shit. One time, she spent over two hours administering stitches in the head of a seven-year-old victim of child abuse whose mother had taken to throwing glass cups at him. Another time, she had been in the OR, helping the doctors operate on a teenager who got hit by a drunk driver. They couldn’t save him.

But one thing she had _not_ come across was a five-year old child who had, according to the men who brought him in, tried to kill himself. She didn’t ask why, they seemed shellshocked enough by the occurrence that she didn’t deem it necessary. Nor did she ask why the child only spoke Nif if they were in the Middle of Nowhere, Lucis. She didn’t even ask when, putting a wristband onto the child’s thin wrist, she saw a barcode was tattooed there, stark and black against his pale skin.

But this? Being told by that very child that he was an MT unit, whatever the hell _that_ meant? That was something she _definitely_ needed to complain about.

The tall one with glasses stood up as she came up towards the group. “How is he?”

Vasilisa ground her teeth. “He’s fine. But you won’t be unless you explain why an _MT unit_ is laying in that hospital bed! Who the hell _is_ that kid?”

She met shocked faces.

The one with black hair was the first to speak. “Wh- MT unit? What are you talking about? He’s just a kid!”

“He told me himself, ‘I don’t think they even realized that I’m an MT unit’. He also seemed to be under the impression that you were enemy soldiers who kidnapped him. Is that true?”

“What? No, he’s my _friend!_ ” The black-haired man shouted.

“You’re friends with a five-year-old?” Vasilisa raised an eyebrow.

“Well, no, but, there- He’s- ah…” He trailed off, trying to figure out how to explain their predicament.

Luckily for the black-haired man, the tall one stepped forward. “We were on a hunt, and Prompto was turned into a child by a plant. We were unaware of his background, so this is just as much of a surprise to us as it is to you.”

Vasilisa nodded grudgingly. “I think I know what you’re talking about. One of our doctors is working with that plant to take advantage of its anti-aging effects. Unfortunately, we don’t have any antidote to that, but it usually wears off after a couple days. If we just keep him here and comfortable, he should recover soon.”

The three men nodded gratefully and sat back down, waiting for Prompto to turn back into the person they knew.

 

* * *

 

“Noct, will you stop _pacing_? You’re making me anxious.” Gladio hissed, fingers gripping into the arms of the chair he was sitting in.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m just a little worried that my _best friend_ is apparently an MT Unit, and… and he tried to _kill himself_ . So, I’m feeling a little anxious myself. _Sorry_.” Noctis managed to keep his volume under control, but not his attitude.

“But pacing will change nothing.” Ignis interjected calmly. “All we can do for the time being is wait for him to return to normal.” He replied. He was being hypocritical, though, as his fingers wouldn’t stop tapping his thigh.

Noctis slumped into another chair. “Gah- I know. I _know_ . But… But I just want answers. I want to know why he never told us, I want to know what we can do to help, I… I just want to do _something_. Sitting here, waiting for him to turn back is making me feel sick. He’s in there, feeling like shit, and I want to help him realize that everything is okay!”

Tears were starting to force their way out of his eyes and he swiped them away. He was more angry at _himself_ for not noticing anything, for missing the clues, even if Prompto hadn’t dropped any. He _should have_ picked up on things anyway.

His self-deprecation was cut short by an ear-shattering scream coming from Prompto’s room. All three of them jumped to their feet, swallowing the urge to see what was happening for fear of making things worse.

...Until Nurse Vasilisa poked her head out and motioned wildly for the three to get in there.

Doctor M’Bala, a short, scrawny man, was doing his best to contain a wildly thrashing Prompto, screaming at the top of his lungs. Nurse Vasilisa leaned all her weight into Prompto’s legs, dodging as he got a leg free and kicked at her.

Without needing to be asked, Gladio rushed forward and pressed his weight into Prompto’s biceps, effectively stopping most of his motion. Noctis and Ignis each took one of Prompto’s legs, allowing M’Baga and Vasilisa to prepare an IV of what Gladio _hoped_ was anaesthesia, because even though he could have held Prompto down all day, he wasn’t feeling too up to watching his friend thrash around like a wounded deer.

Thankfully, after a tense few minutes, Vasilisa and M’Bala managed to get an IV of some unidentifiable milky liquid into Prompto’s other arm. There was a momentary surge of strength, before that ran out and Prompto fell back in his bed, eyes starting to close, and mouth muttering words only M’Baga and Vasilisa could understand.

“What happened?” Noctis demanded, whirling on M’Baga and Vasilisa once Prompto had finally fallen unconscious.

M’Baga sighed and wiped his brow. “One of the other nurses came in here, and he didn’t realize Prompto’s… special case, so he spoke Lucian.” He said. “Prompto heard, and, as you can see, didn’t react very kindly to it. For a young child, he sure has quite the vocabulary.” He offered a weak laugh that no one else reciprocated.

“W-will he be okay?” Noctis asked, staring at Prompto’s too-still form. He was starting to wish they had never taken up this hunt. It only ended in heartbreak and fear. But he couldn’t exactly turn back time, so he had to live with his mistakes.

“He’ll be fine. I was hoping he would remain lucid until he turned back into an adult, to monitor his condition, but we’ll have to make do.” M’Baga replied. “Now, I have another patient I should attend to. I’ll leave you with Vasilisa.”

With that, M’Baga hurried off, leaving Vasilisa with a stressed-out Noctis, Ignis, and Gladio. She paused, then got to work checking Prompto’s vitals. Once she had finished, she turned to the others.

“Stay here with him. If anything changes,just press the red button right there to call someone.”

 

* * *

 

Noctis thought this must be some kind of cosmic “fuck you” from some deity he had personally offended.

The nurses had said that Prompto should be out for nearly a day, but not an hour later, he started to come out of it. A few times, the nurses had simply increased the dosage and left, but soon, they refused, saying that it was too dangerous to fill a young body with too much anaesthetic.  

Noctis understood where they were coming from, but it still hurt to have to see his best friend forcibly restrained on a hospital bed screaming at the top of his lungs. He just wanted everything to be over and done with, but of course it hadn’t been that easy.

Instead, he had to sit in a stiff plastic chair next to a screaming five-year old MT unit for hours. Well, he didn’t _have_ to. He could have joined Gladio as he walked around the perimeter of the hospital, relieving pent-up stress. He could have joined Ignis, who was working to secure accommodations at a nearby hotel. He could have even gone off by himself to try to take down a Nif base out of some petty form of revenge. But more than his eardrums needed a fucking _break_ , he needed to be there for Prompto. Even if he was an MT unit.

Because it was painfully apparent how much shit he had gone through, and by the Six, Noctis was going to be there for everything, from here on out. Even if it was a kid screaming like his mom wouldn’t buy him the toy he wanted.

Slowly, Prompto’s voice started to give out, turning raspy with overuse. His desperate thrashing died down as well, as he naturally exhausted himself out.

By the time Gladio and Ignis had both returned, Prompto had managed to fall asleep. Noctis, thankful for the screaming _finally_ being over, had been nodding off himself, but the promise of Ignis’ cooking woke him up and dragged him away from Prompto’s side.

“Night Prompto. Be back soon,” He promised.


	8. Bring Back What Once Was Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The spell wears off, but it paves the way for uncomfortable conversations.

Prompto hadn’t been to a hospital in a while. The last time he went was when he was fifteen, climbing on the counter to reach the top shelf of the cabinets. He had lost his balance and fallen off. He was perfectly fine, just bruised and a little shaken, but it was one in the morning, and he was scared by how much his head _hurt_.

That was nothing compared the headache ripping through his skull right now. He had woken up in confusion. The last thing he remembered was a flower kicking his ass. Then he was waking up in a hospital bed, tightly _restrained_ , with a massive headache and a tightness in his chest.

What the hell had happened?

His voice was sore, as if he had been screaming for hours, and when he tried to speak, he only managed a slightly audible rasp. Great. One more problem.

He resigned himself to laying back in his bed and waiting for someone. The clock next to his bed said 5:46, so hopefully Ignis would stop by after he woke up. Maybe a cute nurse would come to take his vitals and talk. That would be nice.

He must have drifted off again, because the next thing he knew, the clock had jumped ahead to 6:15, and the door opened. An older woman with curly dark hair stepped through, looking intently at a clipboard. She glanced up and locked eyes with Prompto, face dropping in poorly-hid shock. Was she really that surprised that he was awake? Or even alive? Had whatever happened been so back that his life was at stake? To be fair, it kinda felt like it.

“S-so, you’re back. I-I think your friends would like to talk to you.” She chittered nervously, turning on her heel and disappearing.

What was all that about? Was she _scared_ of him? Why?

With a gnawing horror, he glanced down at his right wrist, seeing the black marks on it exposed. Fear gripped his throat. So she really _was_ afraid of him. And if she was going to tell Noct and the others that he was already awake, they probably knew too.

Fuck.

He had to get out of there, had to leave. But the restraints dug painfully into his skin, a reminder that he was a danger to others. Not to mention the fact that the second he removed the heart rate monitors, nurses would crash into the room like chocobos towards sylkis greens. By the time he had made up his mind to try it anyway, Noctis careened into the room, breathless and sweaty.

They locked eyes, and for a second, everything seemed to slow down. Noctis stood there, panting, and Prompto froze, heart launching itself into his throat.

“Thank the Six,” Noctis breathed, launching himself at Prompto.

Prompto barely had a moment to prepare himself before Noctis’ full weight catapulted onto his bed. The springs bounced, and Prompto winced as the movement aggravated his head and chest.

“Oh, gods sorry. Here, let me take these off of you.”

Noctis started to take off the cuffs, but Prompto jerked with a raspy, “Stop!” Noctis’ fingers paused, and he turned to look at his friend.

“What’s the matter Prom? Are you okay?” Noctis asked worriedly.

Prompto just shook his head. He didn’t _want_ to be let out. Who knew what he was capable of doing.

“What do you remember?” Noctis asked again, softer this time.

Remember? “What does _that_ matter? You know, don’t you?” Prompto’s words were unnecessarily harsh, but he didn’t care.

Noctis didn’t need to ask what Prompto’s talking about. It was all he had been thinking about for the past six hours, since Ignis had told him everything he knew. “Yeah. I know. A-and I’m sorry. For not helping.”

A breathless laugh escaped Prompto’s lips. “You have nothing to be sorry for. It was those Nif bastards.”

An uncomfortable silence fell over the pair, only interrupted by Gladio and Ignis’ entrance.

“It’s good to see you back to yourself, buddy. How’s it going?” Gladio nearly sighed with relief at seeing Prompto older, not a crazed, suicidal child.

Prompto swallowed, throat uncomfortably raw. “I’ll live. Just-” He trailed off, mind finally comprehending the first part of Gladio’s sentence. “‘Back to myself?’ What happened?” His thoughts snapped to his restraints, and the worst case scenario slid to the forefront of his mind, panic suddenly coursed through his veins. “Oh, gods, I didn’t try to hurt you did I? I promise, I didn’t mean to, I swear, please!”

“No, Prompto, gods, no!” Noctis waved the thought away, a little unnerved that _that_ was Prompto’s immediate thought. “What do you remember of the last couple days?” He asked, sitting on the edge of Prompto’s bed, starting to undo the restraints keeping him contained. They were too tight for an adult Prompto. They must have been cutting off his circulation.

Prompto took a centering breath, then concentrated. “I-I don’t know. I remember the flower. Um…” He closed his eyes in an attempt to better remember. Colors and feelings blended together, disjointed, like a dream. “I-I remember pain. I was hurt. And…” He trailed off, remembering a chillingly familiar clicking noise. “And I think there was an Arachne too. I don’t know much else but that. Why, what happened?” His heart hammered in his chest. No one was saying anything else about the barcode on his wrist, but he knew it was only a matter of time.

“It seems,” Ignis stepped forward, “that that little harmless flower contains a pollen that turns its victim into a child.”

All eyes were on Prompto, and his heart sunk into his chest. Licking suddenly dry lips, he nodded slowly. “Oh. So… how young was I?” He asked, though he suspected he already knew the approximate answer.

“We’re not quite sure. We figured about 5 years old? You… you weren’t very…” Ignis trailed off, attempting to put his thoughts in a more delicate manner. “You weren’t the Prompto we knew. Would you like to tell us about it?” His voice was soft, not pressing, just there if Prompto wanted to speak.

And, after fifteen years or so of not speaking, Prompto definitely did.

 

* * *

 

Finally, Prompto had been checked out of the hospital and joined them in the hotel room. He had remained silent through the checkout procedure and the walk to the hotel room. Noct tried to pick up the slack from Prompto’s silence, but stopped trying after it was perfectly clear no one felt like talking.

Honestly, Prompto was glad for once. He needed to rehearse how he would tell the others, try and convince them that he was worth keeping around. That they shouldn’t leave him behind, even though he was plainly the weakest member of their party and a reject MT. But every time he tried to broach the subject in his head, his words failed him.

How could he explain why he lied? How could he convince them he was still on their side? That he hated everything the training facility made him?

He couldn’t. He just wasn’t good with words. He could fill silences with words, sure, but those words were short and meaningless, meant to fill a hole and nothing more. If they were food, Ignis would consider them empty calories and give him a disapproving look if he used them.

When they finally got to the hotel room, Prompto walked wordlessly into the bathroom and turned on the shower, just to avoid talking to anyone, to give himself more time to plan. He stared at himself in the mirror for goodness knows how long before finally deciding to actually step into the shower that was going in the background. Maybe it would help him think.

Quickly, he slipped out of his clothes, kicked them into the corner, and settled into the shower. The water was hot, almost painfully so, but he waited under the stream until his body adjusted. More time to think.

Maybe they wouldn’t care. He allowed himself to hold onto that hope. He knew his friends, and they seemed to generally like him, for whatever godsforsaken reason. Maybe he should pray that their affection for him would overshadow what he actually was: a monster.

Finally, he accepted that he was just stalling and turned off the water. His pale skin was blotchy from the hot water, and he rubbed at the redness, peeling off bits of dead skin. More stalling.

With a sigh, he changed back into his clothes and stepped into the rest of the hotel room. It was small, without a kitchen of any sort. Just two queen-sized beds, a TV, and a bathroom. He shouldn’t be surprised: it’s a small hotel, part of a hospital. People aren’t looking to cook 3-course meals while waiting to find out if their loved ones are going to live. Except maybe Ignis, but he’s a special case.

Noct and Gladio were on one bed playing a card game while Ignis fiddled with the hotel’s coffee maker. A discarded hand of cards on the bed suggested he had lost the round and decided to make the best of it.

All three eyes met his, and he dropped his gaze.

“Hey, Pro-” Noctis started, but Prompto cut him off.

“I’m sorry!” He yelled, squeezing his eyes shut with the effort of speaking about something he had hidden for so long. But he had to get it out now. Before anything else, before they solidified their beliefs that he was a monster, he had to apologize. Monsters don’t apologize, do they?

“I-I should have told you sooner. I put you all at risk, and that was irresponsible of me. I…” He trailed off, wishing that he had actually scripted this out. It would make this so much easier. “I was born in a Nif lab. I-I was trained. T-to be an MT. To be turned into a daemon and shoved inside a suit of armor like a sardine and sent off to die in an endless war.” His voice wavered in anger, but he kept his gaze down. He couldn’t bear to look up and see them angry at him for holding this back.

“I-I escaped. With help. I don’t remember names, they didn’t stick around. But I got to Lucis, and...and I was okay. It…It took a while to adjust. I couldn’t keep down solid food for almost two weeks. When I could, I ate way too much of it. I had nightmares, and couldn’t remember my own name. I kept referring to myself as an “it”. But I learned, and I grew, and I’m different now, I promise!”

Tears were starting to escape from the corners of his eyes, so he quickly wiped it away: he couldn’t show weakness. He had to prove he’s strong. But they won’t stop coming. He looks at the others through vision blurred by the tears.

As he feared, their faces were horrified, shocked. His heart plummeted to the ground, and he took a shaky breath. In, and out. “I-I’m sorry.” He whispered, before tearing out of the hotel room. He heard the others shouting behind him, but he ignored it. He just needed to get away, where he can’t hurt the others.

Tears blurred his vision even more, and he wished those tears could wash away the memory of his friends’ faces, pinched in disgust. He bursts out of a side door into the parking lot, legs pumping and eyes and lungs burning.

“Prompto, wait!” Noctis’ familiar voice almost made Prompto stop in his tracks, but he continued onward. He's almost to the road nearby. From there, he can hitchhike-

There was a sudden crackling sound by his ear, and Noctis was there, a worried expression painted on his face. He grabbed Prompto’s shoulder to stop him from running farther away.

Prompto lashed out, jerking his arm roughly away from Noctis as he yelled, “Get away from me!”

Noctis looked hurt. Genuinely hurt. Prompto felt bad, but if hurting Noctis would keep him alive, Prompto was willing to do it.

“Why, Prompto? Why are you running away!”

“Why are you _stopping_ me? I’m a _monster_ , Noctis!” He snapped, facing Noctis in his anger.

Noctis’ mouth dropped into a little “o”, and his eyes turned bright with held-back tears. “Y-you really think that?”

That wasn’t how he was supposed to react. He was supposed to agree, to say, ‘Yeah, you’re a monster, good riddance.’ But he stood there, as if he was losing a friend. Well, he was, but that friend had lied to him and betrayed his trust. Why was he this _sad_?

“Yes! No…. I-I don’t know…” He admitted, scuffing the toe of his boot on the ground. “I don’t know what the fuck I am. I _assume_ I’m human, but I’ve never been quite sure. Th-the way you and Iggy and Gladio were looking at me, though… you must think I’m not, right?”

“What the fuck? No!” Noctis took a step forward, sadness turning to anger, “I mean, I can’t speak for the others, but just hearing what you went through was terrible! I can’t believe that someone like you has dealt with that, and I’m mad at myself for not being there to help you! I’m terrified about what they had to do to you to...to get you t-to try and k-k- _kill yourself_ .” Noctis stuttered, heart growing heavy as he remembered Prompto bleeding out in front of him. He shook the memory away. “But I _care_ about you Prompto. The past is the past. We can’t change it, but we can help you deal with it. Just let us...please?”

Noctis was so _earnest_. Prompto tried to keep a stiff upper lip. He really did. But lingering exhaustion and the relief of finally coming clean broke the floodgates, and suddenly, he was crying. Not even a dignified weeping, with stiff shoulders and barely a whimper. No, he was all-out sobbing. His legs couldn’t hold himself up, so he fell to his knees, hands trying to wipe away the tears.

A warmth enveloped itself around his shoulders, and Noctis nuzzled closer, one hand petting his hair. “Shhhh…” he whispered. “It’s okay. I’m here for you.”

It was nice. Too nice. He cried harder, returning Noctis’ hug with a crushing desperation. This was better than Noctis accepting that he was an MT and keeping him. Noctis didn’t even seem to _care_.

When Prompto finally pulled away from Noctis’ embrace Six knows how much later, Gladio and Ignis were waiting nearby, talking in soft whispers. Prompto’s and Noctis’ movements drew them out of their conversation, and they greeted the pair with warm smiles.

“Shall we get back to the hotel room? The air is getting rather nippy out here.” Ignis said with a wave as Gladio wraps his arm loosely, _comfortingly_ around Prompto’s shoulders. The air of normalcy almost makes him want to cry again, but he doesn’t. He’s too happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, fam! The end of another fanfic! Thanks for all the support, it means the world to me. Every little comment and kudos makes me think I'm _not_ a giant trash pile, that other people really like what I'm writing. So thanks to everyone!
> 
> Psst, visit me on my [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/stuck-in-ffxv-hell)
> 
> None of my friends play FFXV and I need people to scream with.


End file.
